neo_literaturefandomcom-20200214-history
Specter
Specter is the story about Jay Lewis Clark, a young man who was taken from his parents at the age of nine by the Military to take part of America's Young Military Corps program, which trains him from a young age to become a soldier. Nine years later, an uprising in the cold north of Alaska, northwest of Anchorage calls for immediate action by the government. They send in codename: Eagle Eye to stop them. As his first official mission, Jay must fight for his survival in the inhospitable cold tundra against a domestic terrorist threat who seems to know his every move. Prologue It all started on that faithful day, back in 2009. I believe it was July the 7th of 2009. There were still enough fireworks to go around for days and days. That was the day they came and my life ended. Who, you ask? In due time. Apparently my name, out of millions, popped up in their lists. My entire life there's been "paranormal activity" going on whenever I got real angry or frustrated. These happenings had apparently taken their toll in my life. They apparently had not gone unheeded, and the media didn't help either. Local Boy Witnesses Mysterious Poltergeist Activity, Jay Clark: The Boy Who Was There, Third Grader Caught in Library Book Storm. These sort of headlines don't exactly make me unnoticeable. So when one Uncle Sam's local boys had gotten a hold of enough "proof," he sent it to Washington , and then guess what? A week later, or so they told me, them big boys in the digital MARPAT uniforms came, telling my folks that all these strange events had been caused by me, for some reason- which at first, I thought was ridiculous. I thought I was just caught in bad times. But then he told my parents of agovernment-funded program that could "help kids" like me. It was sort of a military-training program that could train me to better avoid these occurrences and serve my country afterwards. At first undecided, my parents eventually decided to send me off with them after two weeks of smooth-talking. Well, that one decision was a step into a life of which there is no return; one I still wonder about today. In the end, my peaceful morning at the playground with my little sister Vanessa was disrupted by Colonel Andrew McDonald. When we rolled away in his big green Jeep, and I waved good-bye to my parents, I never thought it would my last time. Not because of the Military, no. Oh, they would have let me come back. I did come back. But it wasn't that. You around six years later, when I was training with the United States Marine Corps, the newly-formed Red Sun Empire, (formed by China, North Korea, Russia, and Japan) had declared war on the United States, and to show that they were serious, they bombed the three largest cities in the U.S., which included New York City, Los Angeles, and Chicago, burning everything to the ground. My old school , my friends, my FAMILY... They were all gone. Gone because of politicians playing their stupid game of war, disagreeing politically between nations. War had inflicted upon me the ver-lasing scar of personal loss, but in the process had turned me into a war machine necessary to win this war. I vowed to stop the war from ravaging others, no matter what. I had decided to put political states behind me and focus on the men that made the new powers what they were. I needed to rid the world of a couple more "evil" dictators. In my eyes, stopping them has nothing to do with destroying the state itself, just uprooting their political standing. This world needs fewer politicians. Politicians who rob families their children, politicians who wage meaningless war. The day I enter the battlefield is the day they will fear. That day, whenever that day comes, will be the day of reckoning. They will pay, someday, someway... Chapter One: Preparation MBCQ, Virginia Aug 20th, 2018 0900 HRS Nine years later, three years after the bombing of NY, LA, and Chicago, I was at Marine Corps Base Quantico, over at Quantico, Virginia, over where they train much of the Marine Corps. By this time, I was just known as 1st Lieutenant Jay Lewis Clark, and almost no one except Brigadier General McDonald knew of my connection to the attack on Chicago. He was the only one who knew of my determination. After all, he WAS the one who had overseen my progress my progress those nine years. At the time of his decision, I was at the shooting range, practicing my skills with my M16A3. I aimed down the iron sights to my target. I focused and tightened my grip. As soon as the sight aligned itself with the one hole on the target, I held my breath and pulled the trigger rapidly, only letting one round escape the chamber. The recoil, though all-too familiar, pushed my shoulder back slightly, but it automatically moved back to its original position. I lowered my weapon to admire my work. "Damn! That's the twentieth in a row!" Lt. Jameson exclaimed, staring at that one gaping hole in the target. "You're like an eagle with a telescope! You're all like, "Imma shoot that hole again!' and I was all like, 'Nigga, you ain't hittin' that one hole again! It's impossible!' But now you've gone done proven me wrong! That's like, the only target you've ever used!" "Only one I've ever needed." I said confidently, "Besides, what's the point in using more, if every round goes into that one hole?" "I bet you! I-I bet you you can't go on to thir-" Jameson began to say when his tranceiver buzzed. "To all Marines, this is General McDonald. Please inform Lt. Clark that he has been requested to report to the War Room, immediately. That is all." The tranceiver said, immediately switching off. "Well, your streak has been interrupted, Clark. Now go! I need to practice in peace!" Jameson shooed me away. As I started walking away to the Command Center, I found myself picking up pretty strange conversations. Distracted by these, I failed to notice a guy running in my direction. He was, apparently, also distracted because, the next thing I know, I'm falling backwards, landing on my side. "Hey, what the-" the guy looked up. I saw a single bar on his t-shirt. He was a Lieutenant. "Hey! Who are you, maggot?" I asked him, acting all tough. "I-I'm S-Second Lieutenant James Hunter, sir!" He said, obviously intimidated. I guess he saw my insignia, because the next second, he said, "Hey! You're a lieutenant, too!" I started walking away, but turned and said, "First." It took me twenty minutes to reach the War Room, where the General was waiting, in front of a satellite image of Alaska, alongside some other pretty important-looking men in suits. Probably just our friends from Langley. "Hey, Andrew, sorry for being late." I said sheepishly, as I walked in. "That's fine, Jay. You'll need plenty of rest before the assignment I'm about to give you." McDonald said. "Assignment? Whatever about?" I asked, sitting down on a nearby chair. "Well, we'd like to keep this secret, because recently, we lost contact with one of our bases in the area 100 miles northwest of Anchorage." He said, pointing towards a seemingly remote dot on the map. "Anchorage? Whatever could happen so far up north?" "You'd be surprised. Anyway, recent satellite imagery has shown that unidentified individuals have been entering and leaving the base, at frequent intervals, and have been using the local equipment. We believe they're related to the - hold on. Are you familiar with the Iron Wolf insurrection?" As he said this, the image behind him zoomed into a map of the base, as I was guessing. There were approximately ten buildings. "The Iron Wolves? Yeah, I'm familiar with them." "Great. Okay, so we believe that this is one of their terrorist activities. The public has not and cannot find out about this." "Why?" "Because, Jay, that is a nuclear-armed base. If the media got a hold of that information, there will be mass hysteria. Chaos will ensue as the public fears a domestic nuclear attack. Then the terrorists will have achieved their goal and the government would have to negotiate with them, and eventually give in to their conditions. Now, Washington has given us, Quantico, the comission to send ONE man into the facility to reclaim it. Naturally, we chose you, because of your... "talents" in infiltration, recon, and marksmanship. But this is completely your choice. So, I ask you now: Are you up for it?" I remained wordless for a couple of seconds, then I spoke, "I guess I'll do it, then." "Great. I knew we could count on you. Now, you're mission objectives will be as follows: #Infiltrate the outpost just outside the base. Once there, you will take out any hostiles and implant a decoder on the communications tower. After that, we will be able to to contact you through radio. #Continue onto the main base and make your way past the Wolves undetected. #Terminate the base commander. #Disarm the warheads there. We will instruct you via the radio. #Plant some plastic explosives at key locations and we'll extract you, then blow the hell out of the place! Any questions?" "What's the insetion method?" "We will land you two miles from the outpost with a Blackhawk. Weather forecasts predict small blizzards that day, but we can't risk sending you too close to the target." "Weapon and equipment OSP?" "Mostly, but we will equip you with the decoder, the explosives, a couple of smoke grenades, a flare, and a Beretta M92F, just for kicks. Also, you will be field-testing a new device. It's called an OSSAS." "OSSAS?" "It stands for 'On-Site Statistical Assessment Scouter.' It's a one-eye ballistic visor that, as its name implies, scouts out statistical information and assesses its purpose on-site. It will - Er - should tell you the approximate distance of objects, give you heat signatures nearby, elevation, temperature, humidity, wind direction and speed, topographical information, and geographical hazards and other possible battlefield information." "Oh, I see... When will I be sent?" "Operation PROTECT AND SERVE will begin at approximately 2100-2200 hrs, local time, on August 27th." "August 27th? That's in one week!" "We understand, but this is is a matter we simply cannot ignore or push aside, and we have decided that one week should be enough time to prepare. Dismissed." As I walked out I thought to myself, one week? I can't possibly prepare myself in one week. "Sir?" A voice behind me said, so I turned. It was Lt. Hunter. "Oh, you again. Sorry about what happened last time." "Nevermind that. I work closely with General McDonald, and I understand this will be your first live combat mission without assistance. In fact... Isn't this your first mission?" I just stood there, speechless. Hearing this guy just reminded me of what was needed. It was, in a way, infuriating, but also very soothing, knowing someone cares enough. I breathed in heavily and said, "Yeah... There's a difference between shooting wooden sheet targets and taking another person's life, and..." and then I remembered my commitment from two years back, "... and I guess - I guess I'll just have to get used to it." I said confidently, walking away with swagger... But could I get used to it? I hope so, because I only had one week to prepare myself for the terror and suspense of tactical espionage action. Chapter Two: Insertion MCBQ, Virginia August 26th, 2018 1600 HRS Six days later, I was lying on my bed, a mere two hourse before I left on my assignment. For the first time in two years, I was actually nervous of the outcome of tomorrow... "You'll only fail if you long for the future. A soldier lives in the today, in the here and now. To look ahead is foolish..." ...''Rang in my ear, as it had hundreds of times before, from a time long ago... Too late now, to change things, even back then. I knew I had to put the past behind me, so I set my alarm and quickly fell into slumber... Twenty-two hours later, I was on the Blackhawk, checking my equipment. My new M92F had a nice snow camo painted on it, along with a fresh, brand-new sound suppressor. Though I knew it was too early, I turned on the safety, just in case if the suppressor came off, the gun didn't blow my cover. "This your first time in a helicopter?" the pilot asked me, catching me off-guard. "What? Oh, no. I flew in a couple back in '16, over at Vietnam." "You were in 'Nam?" "Yeah, I was there with Joint Task Force Echo, cross-training with the French." "Oh, really? My cousin Luca served with them. Lt. Colonel Jacques Mercier, right?" "Yeah... Where are you from? You don't seem like Virginia folk." "Boston. I didn't plan what I would do after high school, and I needed a job, so I joined up with the Military. You?" It took me a couple of seconds to accept the truth of what happened, again. "Chicago," I said solemnly. "Chicago? Isn't that the place where-" "Yeah." "Oh, I'm sorry to hear." "Thanks." I could see Alaska's snowy white fields, ruptured by occasional mountain peaks. "Fuckin' autumn, am I right?" the pilot asked. "What? Oh, yeah. Terrorism can't wait 'till summer, eh?" I answered back. "Guess not." I looked back at Alaska. It sent goosebumps down my spine thinking about what was to go on down there. If it weren't so cold, I would have been sweating like a pig. My worries were interrupted by a buzz from the chopper's radio. "Lt. Clark, this is McDonald. Do you copy, over?" "Isn't copying wrong, sir? Over" I picked up the radio and answered. "Don't get sassy with me, Jay. Over." "Sorry, sir, just lightening the mood, over." "Keeping in good heart, eh? Anyway, I've called in to tell you that once you re-establish communication at the comms tower, we will be referring to each other through codenames. From now on, you will be referring to me as 'Clownface', don't ask." "Don't tell." "Oh, shut it, you. Just do it. Your codename will be 'Eagle Eye', just as it has always been. Do you understand, over?" "Yes, sir." "Good. Clownface, over and out." "We've got ten minutes 'till insertion." said the pilot. "Got it." I said. I relaxed, and lied down in the seat, and closed my eyes, trying to get my mind away from the mission. My initial attempts failed and I ended up becoming anxious, so I decided to breathe deeply, and started singing. "Kumbaya, kumbaya..." I muttered as I started relaxed once more. *** Once we were at the LZ, the helicopter pilot lowered down the rope for me, and opened the door. I then took a deep breath, and even through my balaclava I could feel the sheer cold of Alaska autumn, almost winter, but not quite. There was a small blizzard raging. ''Weather forecasts right this time, eh? The blizzard hid the helicopter from eye view, concealed the smell of fuel and even hid the engine and rotor noises. That was good. I stood up and went towards the now opened sliding door on the Blackhawk, holstering my M9, which I had been toying around with this entire time. I looked straight down into the blowing snow, saw nothing but white. Then I looked up and slowly reached for the rope, and held tight. "Um, how high are we?" I asked loudly, trying to speak over the noise. "Around thirty feet." The pilot answered and the cardinal directions, with a blue spot in "Ok..." I muttered to myself. I held on tighter to the rope, and slid down. When I landed, I fell out of balance in the obviously fresh, soft snow, and fell forward, the wet snow sticking to me. "Better for camo, I guess." I said, slightly shivering as I got back up slowly. The helicopter then turned around and flew away. I pressed the button on top of the OSSAS which I had been told would turn it on. After a set of beeping noises, it lit up and showed me a small map on the top right corner of the lens that showed me the nearby topography around me, and a blue spot in the middle that, as I was told, was supposed to be me. Not even a full minute in, and I could already feel the cold, slightly seeping into my thermal clothing. I knew from the briefing the day before that I would land south of the comms outpost I was supposed to infilitrate and rig for communications. The OSSAS then displayed an arrow pointing towards my objective that said 3249 m. Well, that's a long ways from here. Gotta get to walking. As I went down, the OSSAS' heads-up-display showed green blips up ahead, which I was told, were to represent hidden proximity mines or other explosives. I tried my best to maneuver around them, seeing they were M18 Claymore mines. I steered clear of them by about ten feet or so. Dangerous!!! ''I thought to myself. The OSSAS had the outpost as my objective, slated as 2735 meters... ''Oh, boy, this is gonna be a long walk. *** 1376 meters down the line, the OSSAS started showing a little group of red dots in the distance, warning me of unrecognized presences. The closer I got, the larger the red dots became, and it got to the point where I could see the shape of human bodies walking towards me. I kept a close, watchful eye on the OSSAS, which was hung over my right eye. Eventually, as the red dots neared me, I saw there were three of them, and suddenly, one started rushing at me. I felt my heart pound, faster and louder with every passing second and time slow down. I then dropped to the snow and quickly pulled out my M9. After what seemed like, twenty-five minutes (though I know it was less than ten seconds), the bodies were a mere three meters from me. I could see they were each holding an F1 Famas, with no attachments. The red had by now dimished into a mere red outline surrounding the bodies. I gulped down fear and anxiety until one looked down and said: "Hey, boys! Lookie here... A little soldier boy wanting to work us out here for for dear ol' Uncle Sam. Well, soldier, get up!!" He barked, pointing at me with his Famas. As soon as I saw rhe barrel fling towards me, I stood up and aimed my gun at him, rushing as I pulled it out of the holster, my hand shaking a little. More like a tremble. "Oh, look! He's got himself a gun! But look at his eyes! He's still green!" One of the other guys said. The main guy, still pointing his Famas at me, said: "Really, now? Well, let's give him a killer ''experience." He lowered his gun, but the started sauntering towards me. I tightened my grip on my M9, gulping down fear. Almost my entire body was shaking now. He grabbed the barrel of the M9 and tugged at it, pointing it at his throat. "Go on, then. Do it! Finish me off, soldier boy. Or are we scared here?" He taunted. I knew I had to, but I couldn't just shoot him in cold blood, could I? He let go and all three guys chuckled, apparently amused at my cowardice. The main guy then let go of the barrel, as it smoothed back into position, pointing at his chest. He then started inspecting it. I then saw surprise in his eyes. He turned to his friends. "Hey! This guy hasn't even -" he turned to me, "You haven't even taken the safety off, rookie! You can't just go around with a locked gun saying 'Ooh, look at me! I'll shoot you!' Man, Washington must be losing it, sending this guy! What's your name, soldier boy?" ''Rookie? I couldn't believe this man right here had the audacity to call me a rookie! Me! I had trained for nine years, and he calls me a rookie? If there's one thing an eighteen-year-old can't take, it's an insult. Or at least, disrespect. I was one of those hot-headed eighteen-year-olds, so what do you think happened with a gun in my hand? Yes, I rode a unicorn into the rainbow. Ugh, no! I felt so enraged by the guy's lack of respect. I stopped thinking straight, reflecting, and quickly set the safety off, slid the gun at the main guy's face, and Pop!, just like that, I pulled the trigger before he could even react. Surprised by the sudden turn of events, the two other guys scrambled to their guns, but my hand and accuracy proved all-too fatal. They had not cleared leather 'fore a bullet fairly ripped, and just like the main guy, they were dead. The bodies fell back slightly, but without the guidance of the brain, they lost all articulation and fell like ragdolls, limp and lifeless. "Eagle Eye." I whispered softly, looking at the main guy's lifeless, bulging eye as it twitched around, then fell to the back of his head. I then realized I had killed three men... I felt lightheaded, and my stomach churned at the sight of the wounds, either oozing blood like a fountain, or leaking grey matter and other brain matters in their blood spill from their now open back of the head. Instant death... My knees felt wobbly, and I fell to them, took off my tuque, pulled my balaclava, and vomitted over the snow, then, with my last sight being the blizzard clearing up to a clear sky, I fell to the right, into unconsciousness. Chapter Three: Nervi Interfectorem, 60 mi S of Hanoi, Vietnam Sep 22th, 2016 1300 HRS The bright green foliage around me blocked most of the harsh sunlight that day. I was riding in an old-fashioned military cargo truck, like the ones you see in movies about the Columbian black ops or African warfare with the guerillas. I was sitting next to my CO, Lt. Colonel (Lieutenant-colonel) Jacques Henri Mercier, a French paratrooper leading Joint Task Force Echo down in Vietnam, where I was being "cross-trained." Being approximately a fourth French (mother's side), I took an interest in the language and by now had become fluent in it. I guess it was because of my supposed pride in my French heritage that Mercier took a liking to me, promising to teach me all he knew, sometimes telling me stories of the Gulf War, when he served alongside McDonald. In the French army, he was known as the Tigre du Nord, meaning "Tiger of the North," because he was born in a small town in northern France and was known for being fierce and experienced in jungle settings and for having world-class survival skills. Half of the guys were asleep, after a long night driving through and by farms in rural Vietnam. The whole point (the true point, anyways) of Joint Task Force Echo was to find some evidence of alleged "bioterrorist attacks" in central Vietnam, and to investigate some small outbreaks of small and mostly harmless diseases. Mercier's unit specifically specialized in bioterrorism, and each soldier under his command received a hefty amount of shots and medications to prevent any infections within the unit. Because of this we also had to take the necessary precautions. It had been two days since we last saw true civilization. Saw. It had been two weeks since we started this drive through the countryside, the supposed "outbreaks" occuring in small villages and even farms. We had investigated over fifty of these locations, finding nothing but villagers and farmers in seriously dire need... of hygienical help! Phew! "Sir, when are we gonna actually find these so-called terrorists?" asked the second-in-command, Captain (Capitain) Dubois. "Soon." Mercier said calmly, looking at the dirt road ahead, his hands firm on the steering wheel. Surprisingly, Mercier was an incurable optimist, a trait often overlooked because of the fact that Mercier believed a soldier should only live in the now. He only looked ahead when he was formulating plans, approximately 80% of which were successful thus far. Far into the distance, I saw a large puddle of thick liquid. Mercier apparently saw this as well, because next he sped up and then drifted sharply on the road, shooting up dust clouds into the air, waking up most of the men, while stirring up coughs. "Clark! Investigate!" Mercier commanded, his face slightly lightening up, yet still solemn. "Yes, sir!" I replied, my voice fresh with the eagerness of youth. I hopped off the passenger's seat and put on my mask. I then slowly walked towards the puddle. As soon as I was a mere 25 centimeter away from it, I crouched, took out a small metal stick from my field science pouch and dipped it into the substance, then pulled it out. It was in perfect shape, so then I took out a small pad and pen from my other pouch, on my left hip, and wrote down "Non-corrosive." I then took out a scanner from the science pouch and scanned the goo that was on the stick. From what I saw, I could tell the virus had parasitical attributes, but was too small to be a true parasite. It had a spherical shape, mostly. It seemed to be mostly swirling around blood, type AB. I then wrote down "Parasite/Virus (?)" on the pad. "Put some in that canister of yours!" Mercier yelled. "Hold on, sir!" I said, pulling out a lighter and flicking the flame to life, seemingly burning the tip of the metal stick. The goo hardened and broke off. Now interested further, I pulled out the brand-new LN2 (Liquid Nitrogen) Spray and used some of it on the puddle. Instead of freezing, the goo just seemed to get thicker. I was surprised by this, and decided to go tell Mercier. I stood up and turned, and rushed back to the truck when I suddenly heard a splattering sound behind me and Mercier quickly jumped out and ran towards me, yelling frantically, "Behind you!" Frightened, I turned and saw a body rise from the puddle, covered in the muck. Its skin was pale, with mucus dripping of its face, its eyes white and lifeless. It was covered in large pus-filled bubbles. I got really nervous and fell backwards as I tried to back away, my eyes wide in the horror, my mouth screaming soundless shrieks. "Jay! Don't worry! I have this!" Mercier said, pulling out his trusty Colt Python from his hip holster, aiming straight for the thing's head and pulled the trigger. The loud bang that ensued set the setting of the stop as more than just patrol. It signaled the death of whatever that was. The back of it's head exploded, a purplish-red mist rising up into the air, and it fell instantly to its knees, and then forward. Mercier then quickly gestured me over to come with him to inspect the body. "Ugh, what is this?" Mercier exclaimed, pinching his nose as he looked at the pus-covered purple muck on the pale face now gushing out shiny, red blood. I felt disgusted at the sight of it and threw up next to it, not used to this sort of thing. I was thankful I had not done it myself (not that I could, as I had left my SCAR-H back at the truck). Mercier then rescucitated me from my unstable state of mind. I then shook it off and inspected the wound, which had now st One opped bleeding, but inside the head, I saw a movement I wished I wouldn't have, and shocked, I backed up slowly, and tugged at Mercier's arm. "Sir!" Dubois yelled from the truck, fear obviously in his voice, as the body re-animated and flung itself at me with its wide, lifeless white eyes and drooling, blood-covered yellow teeth... I woke up, screaming, back in Alaska. I was in some sort of camp, my hands tied behind my back, three guys standing broodily over me, looking down at me with harsh, uncaring eyes... Chapter Four: Awakening, Somewhere in Alaska, August 28th, 2018, 1300 HRS "He's awake, sir!" One of them hollered over his shoulder. "What? Lemme see!" A guy, big and burly, pushed his way to the front. His eyes were more human. They seemed so soft on a face scarred, wrinkled, and hardened by life. "Undo his restraints!" The first three guys turned me over and untied my hands, and, expecting me to try to escape, immediately after pulled up their M1 Garands. They weren't FAMAS rifles. "Sit up!" The leader barked. I sat up, looked around and saw behind me a wall, and to the side a tree. Behind the men, I could see mountains and snow, and a campfire. They dressed in parkas and winterwear. "You guys Wolves?" I managed to ask, trying to keep my voice steady, afraid of the response. "No. We are a native tribe of the area. The Iron Wolves say we are kin, but they are monsters. Terrible, terrible monsters. We seek to stop them. We found you next to three dead Wolves, thought you dead as well, but found you had pulse, so we brought you here. We weren't sure if you were a Wolf, so we tied you up, but I had my doubts. Now tell me; Who are you?" I wondered if I should have told him, and if I did, how much I should. I thought it harmless, so I said: "I'm a Force Recon Marine from Quantico, sent here by the US government, way back in Virginia. You can call me Eagle Eye. Might I ask your name?" "I am Chief Bold Hawk," the man said. "So, you're here to stop the Iron Wolves, too?" "Yeah." "Good, then you can help. Let him go!" The other guys relaxed and started to go to the campfire, seeking its warmth in this cold day. "So, tell me Category:The Nemesis T-Type Category:Story Category:War Puppies Category:Science Fiction Category:Generation 9 Category:Military Fiction